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O.T. Favorite Poem

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  • #16
    The boy stood on the burning deck
    Eating peanuts by the peck.
    Up stepped a girl all dressed in blue
    and said "I'll have a peck or two".

    OR

    The boy stood on the burning deck
    His feet were covered in blisters
    It burned the pants right off his a$$
    And now he wears his sisters!!!
    Brian Rupnow
    Design engineer
    Barrie, Ontario, Canada

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    • #17
      The sobriety prayer seems more useful.

      -D
      DZER

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      • #18
        Originally posted by brian Rupnow View Post
        The boy stood on the burning deck
        Eating peanuts by the peck.
        Up stepped a girl all dressed in blue
        and said "I'll have a peck or two".

        OR

        The boy stood on the burning deck
        His feet were covered in blisters
        It burned the pants right off his a$$
        And now he wears his sisters!!!
        The boy sat on the burning deck,
        His feet trailed in the water... Longfellow

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        • #19
          I've just remembered another verse:

          The boy stood on the burning deck,
          Whence all but he had fled,
          And when the flames had burned his feet
          He stood upon his head.

          I can't remember ever hearing more than the first two lines of the original, and I've no idea what it was called or who wrote it. But I did commit The Charge of the Light Brigade to memory many years ago.

          George B.

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          • #20
            One of the guys I served out under had this poem on the side of his rollaway and he thought it came from Shakespeare. Maybe someone here can set us straight on its origin.

            Vice is a monster
            so vile and mean
            that to be hated
            is but to be seen
            but seen too oft
            its horrid face
            is first pitied
            then endured
            then embraced

            Sarge41

            This poem is the only one I have memorized in my lifetime. Can anyone tell us its origin?
            Last edited by sarge41; 09-03-2020, 04:39 PM.

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            • #21
              Originally posted by Georgineer View Post
              I can't remember ever hearing more than the first two lines of the original, and I've no idea what it was called or who wrote it.
              Google brought up this (scroll down to the parody entry):

              Casabianca is a poem by the English poet Felicia Dorothea Hemans
              https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casabianca_(poem)
              Location: North Central Texas

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              • #22
                Originally posted by sarge41 View Post
                One of the guys I served out under had this poem on the side of his rollaway and he thought it came from Shakespeare. Maybe someone here can set us straight on its origin.

                Vice is a monster
                so vile and mean
                that to be hated
                is but to be seen
                but seen too oft
                its horrid face
                is first pitied
                then endured
                then embraced

                Sarge41

                This poem is the only one I have memorized in my lifetime. Can anyone tell us its origin?
                Alexander Pope

                https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/942...ful-mien-as-to

                Easy to look up - just put the first two lines in quotes into Google and, voila, lots of hits.
                Regards, Marv

                Home Shop Freeware - Tools for People Who Build Things
                http://www.myvirtualnetwork.com/mklotz

                Location: LA, CA, USA

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                • #23
                  Something from Coleridge which appeals to me:
                  =====================================


                  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

                  A stately pleasure-dome decree:

                  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

                  Through caverns measureless to man

                  Down to a sunless sea.

                  So twice five miles of fertile ground

                  With walls and towers were girdled round;

                  And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

                  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

                  And here were forests ancient as the hills,

                  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

                  ...
                  =====================================

                  The complete poem here:

                  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43991/kubla-khan

                  Comment


                  • #24
                    Originally posted by tlfamm View Post
                    Something from Coleridge which appeals to me:
                    =====================================

                    =====================================

                    The complete poem here:

                    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43991/kubla-khan
                    YES!! One of my all-time favorites!

                    Here, a few lines from John Bunyan's "The Pilgrim's Progress" in 1678,
                    (in which the Author makes an Apology for his Book as an introduction)
                    (These are just the first few lines, it goes on quite a ways

                    ================================================== ======
                    WHEN at the first I took my Pen in hand
                    Thus for to write; I did not understand
                    That I at all should make a little Book
                    In such a mode; Nay, I had undertook
                    To make another, which when almost done, 5
                    Before I was aware I this begun.
                    And thus it was: I was writing of the Way
                    And Race of Saints, in this our Gospel-day,
                    Fell suddenly into an Allegory
                    About their Journey, and the way to Glory, 10
                    In more than twenty things which I set down:
                    This done, I twenty more had in my Crown,
                    And they again began to multiply,
                    Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.
                    Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 15
                    I’ll put you by yourselves, lest you at last
                    Should prove an infinitum, and eat out
                    The Book that I already am about.
                    Well, so I did; but yet I did not think
                    To shew to all this World my Pen and Ink 20
                    In such a mode; I only thought to make
                    I knew not what: nor did I undertake
                    Thereby to please my Neighbor; no not I;
                    I did it mine own self to gratifie.
                    Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 25
                    In this my Scribble; nor did I intend
                    But to divert myself in doing this
                    From worser thoughts which make me do amiss.
                    Thus I set Pen to Paper with delight,
                    And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. 30
                    For having now my Method by the end,
                    Still as I pull’d, it came; and so I penn’d
                    It down, until it came at last to be
                    For length and breadth the bigness which you see.

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                    • #25
                      Dust of Snow (Robert Frost)

                      “The way a crow
                      Shook down on me
                      The dust of snow
                      From a hemlock tree

                      Has given my heart
                      A change of mood
                      And saved some part
                      Of a day I had rued.”

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                      • #26
                        This was posted here about a year ago as I recall:



                        Broken Down on a Snowy Winter's Eve (with apologies to Robert Frost)

                        Whose bike this is I think I know.
                        But he's is drunk and sleeping, so;
                        He will not see me stopping here
                        To siphon off some gas to go.

                        My shovelhead is prone, I fear
                        To stop without a gas pump near
                        Between the wood and frozen lake
                        So far from home without a beer.

                        It shuts down hard and gives a shake
                        As if to rub in my mistake.
                        The only other sound's the weep
                        Of fluid dripping from my brake.

                        My pocket's empty, dark, and deep,
                        But I have gas enough to keep
                        Me rolling miles before I sleep,
                        So many miles before I sleep.
                        There are no stupid questions. But there are lots of stupid answers. This is the internet.

                        Location: SF Bay Area

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